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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



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COMPILED BY 

MARGARET PERKINS 



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Copyrighted October, 1908 

BY 

The Woman's Kansas Day Club 



WICHITA, KANSAS: 

The Goldsmith- Woolard Publishing Co. 

publishers 



Co tie pioneers of HanSag 



A BOOK 

By Eugene Ware 

With granite once a genius bridged a stream; 
A builder once a rugged temple wrought; 

On canvas once a painter fixed a thought; 
A sculptor once in marble carved a dream; 
A queen once built a tomb, and in the scheme 

Of gold and bronze the quivering sunbeams caught; 

Then came oblivion, unseen, unsought. 
Contemptuous of thinker and of theme. 

And some one wrote a book. Palace and Hall 

Are gone. Marble and bronze are dust. The fanes 
Are fallen, which the sungold sought. The Rook, 

At morn, caws garrulously over all. 

All! All! are gone. The book alone remains. 
Man builds no structure which outlives a book. 



This little book owes its being to some Kansas writers whose 
generous minds and loyal hearts prompted the gratuitous expendi- 
ture of abihty and time. 

The entire proceeds will be spent by the Woman's Kansas Day 
Club in marking the historic spots of the state. 

The little volume is confidently intrusted to the people of our 
state whose frontier life has rarely been the theme of story and 
song. 

Margaret Perkins. 



Contributorjt 

Henry J. Allen 
H. A. Bower 
Gov. E. W. HocH 
Amanda T. Jones 
Mrs. Cora G. Lewis 
Geo. W. Martin 
J. R. Mead 
Grace Meeker 
W. Y. Morgan 
Laura Alton Payne 
Margaret Perkins 
Adolph Roenigk 
Mrs. J. S. Simmons 
Eugene F. Ware 
William Allen White 
Robert M. Wright 



THE WOMAN'S KANSAS DAY CLUB 
By Mrs. J. S. Simmons 

CHE idea of forming a Woman's Kansas Day Club was conceived 
by the Good Government Club of Topeka, which sent out a call 
to the women of the State, to meet in the State House on January 
29, 1906. More than seven hundred women responded and 
the Club was organized. 

At the first annual meeting held in Topeka, January 29, 1907, 
the Constitution and By-Laws were adopted, which state among other 
things, that the Woman's Kansas Day Club shall be non-partisan, 
non-sectarian, and its members shall be composed of the loyal, patriotic 
women of Kansas. 

The object of this Club shall be to encourage and promote the 
collection and preservation of the early history of Kansas; to instill 
patriotism in Kansas youth, and to establish a comradeship among 
Kansas women. 

Annual meetings shall be held in Topeka on the 29th day of January 
of each year. 

At the annual meeting held in Topeka, January 2, 1908, it was 
decided to make the securing of Pawnee Rock the specific work of the 
year. This work was entrusted to the President and her official 
Board of twenty members. In the preUminary work of securing a 
contract with the owner of the Rock, they met with much success. 
He has made a deed of gift to the State of Kansas for five acres of land 
surrounding and including the Rock, and agrees to sell an avenue 100 
feet wide leading from the town of Pawnee Rock to the historic Pawnee 
Rock. These deeds are placed in escrow in the Pawnee Rock State 
Bank and will be delivered to the Women's Kansas Day Club when 
they have raised the sum of Three Thousand Dollars to place improve- 
ments on the property. Among these improvements as specified will 
be a monument to cost not less than Fifteen Hundred Dollars. This 
money must be raised by December 31st or the opportunity to secure 
this gift is forfeited. 

This work of the Woman's Kansas Day Club is a work for all loyal 
and patriotic women of Kansas. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



MONUMENTS AND THINGS 
By William Allen White 



'ENERALLY speaking, Kansas has few ivy clad ruins, and few 
traditions. Today is sufficient for today in Kansas; yesterday 
is as unimportant as tomorrow, and as a result of this temper- 
ament, Kans'as has few monuments, few places of popular pil- 
grimage, and practically no heroes. The closest approach to a hero in 
Kansas is John Brown, and he is more of a hero outside of Kansas than 
inside of Kansas. Too many men are living who knew him. And so 
long as men live in the flesh who kneM- a man, h« does not do well in 
bronze or marble. 

The movement to preserve and cherish PawTiee Rock is a worthy 
movement on general principles — aside from all consideration of the 
heroism for which the great rock stands; for Kansas needs heroes; 
needs historic spots; needs traditions; needs to contemplate yesterday 
with reverence that she may live today better and go tomorrow with 
hope. The money spent in any community in preserving and cherish- 
ing heroic deeds, or places of lofty aspiration, or scenes of great sac- 
rificial events, is money invested in something better for a community 
in the long run, than stocks and bonds. It is good for every people to 
know that they have inherited a debt — the debt of past sacrifices, past 
heroism, past aspiration. The more the fact of our obhgation to the 
unselfish men of the past is kept before our eyes, the more sure will we 
face today's problems like men and the less like mice, A monument 
to heroism in any community taxes the selfish members of that com- 
munity; makes them unpopular by daily contrast with those who 
lived worthily in other days. 

The Pawnee Rock will indeed be the shadow of a rock in a weary 
land. Eastern Kansas has monopoHzed the heroes; Western Kansas 
has as much of heroism, as much of abnegation, and of human sacrifice 
to a great cause as Eastern Kansas, but it has not been noted down and 
memorialized. This Rock will be worth its milhons to that part of 
Kansas as the decades slip into centuries; and the story that the great 
rock symbolizes, as it is told and retold, cannot but make a deep im- 
pression on the life of this community. 



Echoes of Paivnee Rock 



CIVILIZATION IN SIXTY YEARS 
By Henry J. Allen 

CHE romantic civilization of the great plains has passed away. 
The steam railroad has come to take the place of the old Santa 
Fe Trail. The piano, the Brussels carpet, the lace curtain, 
the automobile, the talking machine, have taken the place in 
the civilization of Pawnee Rock, once held by the coyote, 'the campfire, 
the buffalo and the six-shooter. The place where the Red Man laid 
in wait to massacre the lonely wagon train has now become the cradle 
of a thriving civihzation. In the very spot where, only sixty years 
ago, women and children were ruthlessly butchered by savages, they 
are now playing bridge whist, organizing womens' clubs, having church 
socials and buying fashions from Paris. The Red Man has either 
disappeared altogether or has learned to wear his shirt in the confines 
of trousers and has become a student of spirituous liquors. 

Pawnee Rock, sixty years ago, was a great rock in a weary land. 
The emigrant trains crept slowly past it in close procession toward the 
Rocky mountains: And even sixty years ago, which is but an instant 
of time in the life of a nation, no one dreamed that the emigrants, 
who halted for a night in the shadow of the great rock, were going to the 
Pacific coast to find gold and breed nations along the shore of the ocean. 
No one reaUzed at that time that the few fanatical Mormons who 
groped their way past Pawnee Rock would rear a swarming Jerusalem 
in the bosom of solitude itself . That was even less than sixty years ago 
and yet since that time the disenchanting screech of the locomotive has 
broken the spell on the vast plains, womens' rights have invaded the 
fastness of the Arapahoe Indians, and the wild cavalcade of savagery 
has taken off its feathers and paint, and put on what clothes it could 
borrow, and is now living off the government. 

It is inconceivable that a civilization so finished and already 
practically paid for. should have developed within one generation. 
It is natural that a people fighting for time in a new country should for- 
get the business of making monuments. The taste for monuments 
comes from retrospection, winch arrives only with age. I am glad the 
Woman's Kansas Day Club has, for purely memorial purposes, purchased 
Pawnee Rock and arranged to preserve what is left of the ancient 
landmark. The sentiment which inspires this act is rich and full of 
fitting tribute to the memory of the hardy pioneers and plainsmen 
who constituted, only a few years ago, the advance guard of modem 
civihzation west of the Mississippi river. 



10 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 

FROM THE PENS OF PIONEERS 
By Margaret Perkins 

^F peculiar significance is the trend of public solicitude toward 
historic spots. It is indicative of enlargement of that channel 
through which flows the life of a commonwealth. A commercial 
generation, self convicted of filial ingratitude, yearns to acknowl- 
edge its natural indebtedness to the past. Worthy of emulation is the 
spirit of benevolent regard hovering over the pathetic ruins of the 
sentinel Rock which echoed the rapid transformation of an Indian 
rendezvous into a community of comfortable homes. 

Pioneer settlers remember the western half of the state as a wilder- 
ness of virgin sod. On the present site of vigorous towns and stately 
groves and matchless wheat fields rioted appalling prairie fires. In- 
stead of geometrical thoroughfares innumerable buffalo paths — the 
providence of many a thirst tortured plainsman — led to water; for the 
short grass country was the primitive home of the bison, and a pre- 
historic upheaval, disgorging a gigantic formation of stone in the level 
empire of the buffffalo, destined Pawnee Rock to notoriety. 

Despite the golden haze of romantic narration enveloping the 
locality, Pawnee Rock is an essential link in the history of state devel- 
opment. The vicinity was a favorite haunt of the Pawnee Indians — 
whence the name and sanguinary record of the Rock; for wherever 
they sojourned, the Red Men failed not to trace a bloody inscription to 
their memory; and Pawnee Rock was the scene of a contest singularly 
tragic even in the annals of a race peerless in the history of barbarous 
peoples. 

During buffalo days, the grassy plain surrounding the Rock 
afforded superior advantages for sport. A plainsman, writing of per- 
sonal reminiscences says, "Riding one day from Plumb Creek Ranch 
to Fort Lamed, I saw buffaloes in every direction as far as the eye 
could reach, denser in the vicinity of Pawnee Rock than elsewhere." 
Tliither "in the moon when leaves are falling," came migratory tribes 
to kill their winter supply of meat. A perennial dispute of ownership 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 1 1 



annually resulted in the fall of many braves whose rude weapons were 
long ago upturned by the peaceful plowshare. 

Prior to the first settlement, a small party of Pawnees, closely 
pressed by many Cheyennes and Arapahoes, found refuge behind the 
friendly Rock. For days they valiantly maintained the position; 
nor did their enemies seize the natural fortress until the last desperate 
Pawnee had been dispatched. 

A Barton County pioneer writes, *'As for bloody battles fought 
around this old Rock, I should judge they were numerous; for when I 
came here, many graves were discernible. Well I remember the fall 
and winter of 1872 when a party of St. Louis bone pickers camped 
under the shelter of Pawnee Rock. Those sixteen cars, paclied for 
shipment by my brother and me, did not contain buffalo bones only. 
Just how many human skeletons we packed, I cannot now say, but 
fully ten skulls went to St. Louis as revenue to those bone pickers. 
In those days, finding a human skull in this vicinity was no uncommon 
occurence." 

The celebrated Santa Fe Trail flanks the base of the Rock. Creep- 
ing wagon train caravans always approached the shadowy bulwark 
with inexpressible apprehension. Treacherous death frequently 
lurked there, and under a varying canopy of wheat He the bones of the 
vanguard of progress who cemented with their blood the foundation of 
prosperity in the short grass country. 

Says a soldier who was stationed at Fort Harker, "As late as 1868, 
wagon trains from Fort Harker were frequently surrounded by Indians 
in the vicinity of Pawnee Rock, and only released from their peril by 
the arrival of relief from either Fort Larned or Fort Zarah." 

But if Pawnee Rock had no historic setting, still would it appeal to 
a pristine sentiment which obhterating centuries are unable to erase from 
the hearts of men. The deafening roar of an unparalleled commercial 
era has not drowned the echo of an ancient warning against removing 
the landmark of the fathers. 

The plainsman saw the district between the Arkansas River and 
Walnut Creek stretch away to the horizon's bound in a wearisome monot- 



12 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



ony of gently undulating prairie, save when the eye rested on the aston- 
ishing phenomenon of the Rock. The superstitious Indians averred it 
was the miraculous gift of their Great Spirit. Whatever its origin, 
it towered from the plain in majestic grandeur, and lifted into the 
shimmering sunlight its eagle encircled summit of more than a hundred 
feet, which, under favorable atmospheric conditions, could be seen for 
twenty miles. 

To the popular custom of name car\dng, old as the Pyramids, 
the Rock owes the signatures of John Sherman, Robert E. Lee, John 
Freeman, Kit Carson and many other celebrated folk. 

This most notable landmark and camp on the Santa Fe Trail 
merits a share of the tardy attention which a battle-born state is be- 
stowing upon those localities "where our fathers died." It is fitting 
that the sons and daugthers who enjoy the goodly heritage for which 
those fathers sacrificed themselves should preserve Pawnee Rock 
in a State Park forever. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 1^ 

"THE PLAINS OF BITTERNESS" 

By Mrs. Cora G. Lewis 

'TfN the shadowy light of a long ago September evening, a man and a 
Jl woman stood by the low stone wall of an old Southern garden. 

The graceful branches of a young birch tree drooped over them, 
and tall autumn Hlies nodded by the gate. Below the tangled 
garden stood a house with wide cool porches, and farther down in the 
green curve of a valley lay a httle lake, the water rippling about its 
grassy shores which were partly hidden by a drapery of wild vines in 
the trees. Beyond the valley the hills were touched with the delicate 
coloi:ing which is the aftermath of the summer's green glory. A 
straggling Kentucky village nestled among the sloping hills, and to the 
young couple by the wall, the scene looked like a picture of Corot's 
touched with serene life as if the landscape had been caught in a season 
of dreaming. 

John Argo who stood with his girl wife in the old garden, was 
tall and well built. He had the clear, fme skin, black hair and the 
blue eyes with dark shadows in their depths, which go with fine Irish 
blood, and this also marked his full sensitive mouth. He stood straight 
and tall hke the young birch drooping over him. 

Susan Houston had been John's sweetheart since they first went 
to the village school. She was now his wife and was the picture of 
girUsh contentment as she stood under the trees with her tall husband. 
Her fair hair waved softly about a delicate, oval face, in which the color 
that came and went always reminded John of a Southern blush rose. 
Her brown eyes were wide and clear, and the straight, dark brows 
gave Susan a look of grave seriousness except when she laughed. 
Her marriage to John Argo had been celebrated a few weeks before the 
September evening when they stood in the garden taking a farewell 
look at the lake, the hills beyond, and the little village, all rich with 
memories of their happy youth. 

The next morning they were to go West to Kansas, then opened 
by the Government for homesteaders, where they meant to make their 
home and fortune. 

Susan sighed, and looked at her husband with a face shmmgly 
responsive to the spirit of the twilight. 

"Isn't it all too beautiful to be real?" 



14 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



John answered her quietly, although back of his presence seemed 
to brood a tense, anxious uncertainty. 

"Yes, it is an enchanted vale, Susan dear, and I feel even a* this 
hour, after all our plans are made, that I must change them and go 
West alone." 

Susan turned her face toward her husband, startled out of her 
reverie. 

"I cannot," he went on, now with passionate determination, 
"take you away from your people — from home and other women until 
I know what I'm taking you to." 

"Hush my dear," Susan said earnestly. "Why are you so afraid 
this last day. You've hinted at this all the afternoon. Do not lose 
courage, my husband, for sweet as this all is, and full of glad memories, 
we must go where you can get land, and my place is with you. Let 
us have the end of our very last dear day without a cloud. Look, can 
you see the crooked streets and the old white pavingstones?" pointing 
to the village. 

"Yes," John replied with a qiver in his voice, "and they make me 
feel as if they were dream paths along which we've wandered for so 
many years — ever since we were children." He put his arms about 
his wife and bent his head against hers. 

"It's getting late," Susan answered, softly stroking John's face 
"and we must go in and be ready for our journey tomorrow. Mother 
is waiting to talk to me. She thinks the mails don't go West and she 
must tell me everything before I go." As she turned half about to go 
in she cried joyously: "There is the old church spire against the sunset, 
but the grey stone guardhouse is in the dark of the shadow from Meadow 
Hill." They breathed softly as if fearing to lose a line of the rare 
picture. 

The purple mist was gathering over the lake, and the slender 
sickle of the young moon was reflected in its waters. Across the 
valley came the sighing of the night breezes and the joyous laughter 
of the village children at their evening play. 

When Susan turned to go, a spasm of fear crossed John's face and he 
caught her hands in his that were cold and trembling. 

"Wait! don't go yet. I must tell you something. I am going 
West alone tomorrow. You must listen to me," he said, as she turned 
toward the house. 

"No, sweetheart, I will not listen to you. Other women have 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 15 



faced the hardships in new unkno^Ti lands for the sake of the men they 
loved," and, with her amis about him, ''no one of them ever loved as I 
love you, John. That is not possible." She laughed softly and con- 
tinued as she saw his face set with resistance against her argument, 
'Sve have our own way to make, and I will not stay here in comfort 
while you go alone to make the struggle. My place is beside you." 

John hesitated a moment, then looking away from her began in a 
depressed, colorless voice. 

''I had a frightful dream last night, and the terror of it has been in 
my heart all day. I seemed in the dream to be asleep and dreaming, 
and all at once to waken and find we were shipwrecked and alone in a 
boat. We were drifting about on a great black sea and the dark waters 
seemed to spread to indefinite, far off, slimy shores. You were ill and 
thirsty and all the terrible water about us was bitter. 

"I dreamed I left you and went stumbling about the boat to find 
a bit of water for you. When I came back and had almost reached 
your side, the vessel broke apart and I tried to dash over the chasm 
of waters to you. I could not, and you drifted quickly out into the 
dark alone, calling to me across the bitter, black water that seemed to 
hiss under the floating piece of the boat that bore you out of my sight. 
I struggled and fought to get into the water, but some gliastly, invisible 
power drew me back into the engulfing darkness alone." 

John had touched her temple with his fingers as he fuiished speak- 
ing, as if to carry into her consciousness the warning the night vision 
had opened Vjefore his soul. His voice ached from telling her of the 
nameless horror of the drifting, black, bitter waters. 

She drew shiveringly toward him as the wind rose, soughing through 
the branches of the birch tree, seeming to have in it the chill from the 
waters in John's hideous dream. In the dim light of the new moon he 
thought her forehead shone with the gleaming whiteness he had imagin- 
ed in the face of the young martyrs. 

"Now John you see what it is to have Irish ancestors, and be 
brought up on their stories and superstitions. I've always told you, 
you made a mistake in not being born American, pure and straight. 
If you were you would know that dreams go by contraries — like girls. 
Besides, the horses of Mananan must have been near to carry me 
ashore. If you're going to see the visions of old Ireland, see the light as 
well as the darkness. Can't you see John, it's my fate to go, since I've 
married an Argo, for they are bound to roam. Tomorrow we set sail 



16 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



in search of the golden fleece that is out on the prairies of the V/est 
waiting for us. I would be so lonely here, but with you I shall not mind 
work, or fear danger." 

Women love so much and know so little in the sweet romance of 
young wifehood. To Susan this romance had been the happy fulfill- 
ment of a love that had enfolded her since she and John were children. 

He turned her fair face upward in the moonUght and read in it her 
determination to go with him. If it must be that way he would put 
his foreboding misery away from him and bend his thoughts toward 
succeeding in his new venture. Long afterward, he remembered lin- 
gering in the path as they went to the house, to look at Mars, glowing 
like an evil eye in the sky of the West, which in some remote corner of 
consciousness he connected with fading, dying things. The big red 
planet seemed to warn him of the perils of young women who go out on 
the border of the desert before its elemental fierceness has been sub- 
dued by man. 

"Did you have a letter from your cousin Edward in Kansas, today?" 
Susan asked as they went in. 

"Yes, I forgot all about it. I meant to tell you." 

"What does he say?" Susan asked eagerly. 

"Oh," musingly, "it's a song of the West I think. He says the sun- 
sets are more glorious than Italy's, and the soft air blows across im- 
mense green plains rich with the fragrance of their grasses. He says 
the soil is so friendly that it yields its golden harvests to any one who 
will make the Earth on offering of labor in season. He thinks the big 
herds of cattle would astonish the farmers here out of their senses." 

Susan laughed merrily. "And you want to see all this wonderful, 
golden West without me! Well, you're a married man now, and you 
can't go wandering away alone any more." 

They went in, and far into the night Susan's mother talked to her 
of the things she must face in the new land of her wifehood. When 
she had laid the burdens of responsibility on the shoulders of her 
slender, young daughter, she kissed her with tears dimming her eyes 
saying: 

"Go on, dear child, I am glad you are brave enough to stand by 
your husband. You will be lonely, you must work, but it is all better 
than to be a useless woman, selfish and lazy. Go, and be a great woman; 
one of those who do things, and who live to some purpose." 

Little did the mother know of the fierce fight the western desert 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock -^^ 



makes to beat back into its fold the prairies, with their allurement for 
the children of men, nor could she dream how many women must be 
sacrificed to make the green plains fit for homes. 

The next morning, John and Susan Argo began their Westward 
journey. They took an overland train and soon after another dayrn 
the trees were fewer and the horizon larger. Further on, the plains 
seemed to stretch inimitable distances to the sky. That night, as they 
stood on the platform of the slow mo^^ng train, the moon seemed just 
above them, and there was an intimacy in the twinkling stars that lay 
in unnumbered miUions along the shore of the heavens. The September 
air blew in their faces, spicy with the prairie odors. 

Many families were on the train, all thrust on the unknown plain 
by the human hunger for land; led on by the wisdom of the spirit in 
each one, that knows God never meant his children to be separated 
from the Earth he created for them. 

The next morning John and Susan awoke at daybreak and soon 
came to the end of their journey, at a new town rearing itself with 
bustling/ blatant clatter on the very borderland between desert and 
plain. There was a want of privacy in the glaring sunlight, but every 
one was full of hope and neighborliness, as they made a little home m 
the big land. Susan loved to watch the cow-boys, the I^ights of the 
Plain, with picturesque sombreros, and gallant manners, as they gal- 
loped over the prairies on their spirited ponies. Their liking for clank- 
ing spurs and leather armor was a heritage from feudal ancestors, and 
instead of tournaments with men, they were engaged in a battle with 
man's enemy, primitive nature, that strikes at him when he presumes 
to enter a new domain. . 

"Life without color and adventure would press heavily on their 
spirits," she told John, ''and they uphold the traditions of Knighthood 
to a man." 

"Yes, and how they scorn comfort," John replied. Not one ot 
them will sleep in a bed if he can get enough prairie to stretch himself 
on. They are always ready to help you in trouble, but you ought to 
see a crowd of them measure out their law to a cattle thief. Discourtesy 
to a woman and stealing another fellow's cattle are the cardinal sms in 
their eyes." 

Every cowboy on the plains loved John and Susan, and not one ot 
them ever passed within reach of them, without stopping for the wel- 
come the little home held for them. They loved its few magazmes and 



is Echoes of Pawnee Roch 



books, the pretty china and the pictures on its walls. In some subtle 
way they felt refreshed after an hour under John's roof. 

There was never a lonely moment in the new home for Susan, 
Every morning in the majesty of the sunrise they consecrated them- 
selves anew to the willing toil of making a home on the vast beautiful 
plain. 

After a year John had his land all broken and ready to farm. 
The second year's crops, though small, gave some returns, and they 
were happy and full of strength. By this time John knew he had only 
half understood, in the South, the struggle a man assumed when he 
tried to make a home where the Earth furnishes neither timber nor 
rocks, and substance and shelter must be drawn from the land. He 
worked harder and never hinted this to Susan, who used her strength 
to the utmost to help him. 

The second October after their coming to Kansas her first baby, 
a boy, was born. He was a healthy, happy child, and the joys of her 
motherhood deepened and sweetened her great nature. In spite of 
her happiness, she grew thin as the months went by, and the daily work 
was often more than she could do. John looked at her often, her charms 
increased by her new happiness, and thought she was more beauitful 
than in her girlhood. 

The third year the crops were fairly good, and John worked like 
mad to get everything cared for. 

People came in rapidly and the country was being gradually 
settled, when the fourth summer came with the terrible drouth. 

For months that year the sky was like copper, pitiless and stern. 
The sun hung above its brazen depth, scorching nearly every green 
thing, and the hot wind blew long weeks intoning an evil song of de- 
struction and withering what the sun left. Its hissing breath kept 
every sense and nerve strained, resisting the malign powers of devas- 
tation unleashed on the plains. 

The crops Jolm planted with hope were blighted by the hostile 
elements. Every tree and shrub and flower, planted with loving hands 
about the Httle prairie home, drooped pleadingly for rest from the 
beating winds, and crying for rain, died. 

In the November of the drouth people began leaving their homes, 
and all winter on the trails of the brown, dusty prairie, John and Susan 
watched the covered wagons creeping away with the stricken families. 
John always said in his heart: ''They are going to the East, toward' 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 19 



the light." With every evil stroke of fortune, the fighting blood 
m his veins leaped. He worked without rest, taking cattle the farmers 
were unable to sell, and driving them every day out on the prairies to 
the dry buffalo grass. No thought of submission or resignation en- 
tered his heart, as he arose each morning with a keen sense of the pri- 
vation resting on his family. He would whip into its lair the evil fate 
pursuing him. 

Just before Christmas, a daughter was born to him and Susan; 
and for a time the tremenduous happiness that came with the child 
pushed toil, anxiety and failure into the realms of unimportance. 

Susan struggled for weeks after the birth of the child to get on her 
feet. She was so close now to the primitive human needs of her family 
that she dared not think, for their substance had gone little by little. 

When John, looking tired and worn from the day's work, tried to 
care for her and the children, she often said: "The winter is nearly 
over, sweetheart, and in the spring I will be better. The cattle have 
lived through the season, and we shall come out all right yet." 

John, secure in the age-long beUef that the Earth will yield to 
those who are willing to work, made plans for the coming Spring. As 
the planting season passed without rain and he was unable to put in 
crops, his face grew ghastly in its terror. Susan told him she felt bet- 
ter every day, but one evening he took her in his arms and faltered: 

"Dear, we must give it up and go away. I can work and fight 
hard, but I cannot live and see you fading Hke this." He had seen how 
she was all the time in spite of her bravery. 

"No, oh no no! We can't go back. Things will grow better here. 
I — we"— she sobbed close to his heart— "I couldn't stand the journey 
now." 

"I am growing to hate the prairies," he moaned. "To me they 
are the plains of bitterness, such bitterness as I did not think I could 
live and know." 

"Don't John, don't say that," Susan gasped, "Everythmg has 
changed at home. We have no money to go away. We must wait 
here on the prairies for the turn of the tide." 

He held her away from him, looking long in her sweet, earnest face, 
with eyes even yet full of courage, challenging his thought of failure. 

She sang sometimes in bed as she rocked her little ones beside her, 
and crooned the old folk lore melodies that had fed her own childish 
imagination. 



20 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



"I wonder," she murmured to them often, "if you will grow to be 
like other children who have playmates and games, or if you will be 
lonely and remote as these wild prairies." 

John came in one day late in the spring with the hunted look of a 
man whom the Gods of evil have broken. 

"Susan," he said thickly, "The MacLellons and Nortons are going 
to leave next week. I will get everything ready and — and — can't we 
go with them?" They were the only settlers left and she knew they 
would be alone on the prairie. 

"No, No John, not now" she breathed, "I could not go anywhere 
now. Do not ever speak of it again." 

John said no more, but went out in the evening when he had cared 
for her and the babies, and she heard him sobbing, away out on the 
desolate prairie. When he came in, she was awake, looking pitifully 
pale and helpless. 

"I cannot stand that," she wailed. "I cannot stand that." 

John put his head on her hands and sobbed: "Forgive me just 
this once; it is the only time. God will not forget us, although I cannot 
seem to find him in this forsaken land." 

The drouthy days dragged leadenly along, and in July the hot 
winds began to blow. Susan's face grew whiter every day as its scorch- 
ing blasts invaded the house. One night as she slept, the spirit of her 
mother who had gone before, passed before her face, looking into her 
eyes with brooding tenderness, and she knew her summons had come 
to go. The passion of suffering in her face when she tried to rise the 
next morning told John all. 

The next evening just before sundown the wind quieted and she 
asked John to come to her. "See beloved, the whole West is aglow. 
The very gates of eternity are opened for me." 

The babies slept beside her, their little faces showing the relief 
from the nerve racking winds. 

"Put them on my arm dear, once more." She held them a long 
time, the slanting rays of the sun lighting her anguished face. It 
seemed hardest to let the baby go, but she kissed their flower-like 
mouths, put her thin fingers caressingly on their little eyes and John 
took them away. 

"It is cool outside," she said, "and they will be better for a sleep 
in the open air." 

When he came in the light from the full moon shone in at the east 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



21 



window and the sun had gone. It was an old moon, and they both 
thought of the night when it was young over the lake m the valley 
in Kentucky. When the storm of weeping had passed over John, 
crushing and breaking him, she held his head against her breast ^^ 

"There are so many things I want to say to you dear, before I go. 

"Don't talk; don't talk much, it takes your strength so." ^^ 

"While I have strength, I want to tell you these thmgs John. 
Her voice quivered brokenlv. "Through all the trials out here I've 
been happv in your love. For all these outside things you must not 
grieve when I am— away. I go away— so far, but with the memory 
of a love— always tender— about me, like choice m cense. You have 
been constant. You have never failed me. To be poor is easy, i 
never could have borne unfaithfulness or— or coarseness, or to have 
had your love grow cold." 

His bowed head rested now on the slender, nervous hands that he 
had held so often, and her low whisper caressed his face. 

"You have always been good to me, and remember, dear, I would 
not hsten, I would come here, but Oh, I did not know." She was 
quiet a moment, and then she began in the low, sweet voice that was 
always Uke music— "We have had each other, and nothing else matters. 

John knew this was all true, but the sorrow of the years to him, 
was the privation that had crushed her. Their minds were dazed by 
the coming separation and the chasm Susan must cross alone seemed 
dark to John, but they faced the hour in dignity, unafraid of what was 
to come. 

Her mind wandered. "It is so beautiful outside— There is no 
wind now— over— over the moonlit prairie. Carry me outside John, it 
is calling me. Oh, I love the plains in spite of their cruelty." 

Susan roused now, and saw she had hurt John. 

"It is a savase country," he groaned. "I cannot let it touch you 
again, not even afthe end of all the years we hoped to spend together. 
John was sobbing drearily. ^^ 

"Don't dear, I must be brave— I will be brave.' 
"You have always been brave," he replied to the question m her 
tones. "You have hoped and worked and loved and prayed as only 
a woman can. That you have never quailed at anything is your 
glory." ,^ 

^"You will take the children away — from here? 
"Yes," he answered, and he Uttle thought how soon. 



22 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



She slept a little, and the cooling shadows of great wings seemed 
to protect her from the fierce sun and the wind of the past few weeks. 
In from the prairie came the night song of a grasshopper and the plain- 
tive wail of a thirsty plover. 

After Susan lay with closed eyes awhile, she revived and they 
talked of many things as lovers will: the days of their quickly vanished 
youth, their charming courtship, the mystery of love, and their plans 
and hopes for the children. The recording angel without his tablets, 
would not have known the tremendous deeps through which their 
souls had passed. 

John looked with aching eyes into the face in which he had loved 
to watch the gracious bloom of motherhood, and saw it fading slowly. 
As her breathing grew shorter, the tides of her life seemed flowing into 
his. 

At last the end came and he kissed her face, and her dear hands, 
and knelt in humility beside her slender body, a storm of passionate 
regret for all her suffering sweeping over him again. Then the brutal 
poverty of their surroundings was borne into his consciousness, and 
going outside he carried the little ones in the house. He worked with- 
out rest; he was past the need; and in the twihght of the dawn was 
ready to leave the prairie home. 

"I can never leave her here on these plains. This soil shall not 
touch her." 

As the sun rose he placed Susan's white body, looking like a broken 
lily, in a wagon, put her children beside her, and drew the cover tightly 
down. 

"I dare not stop to say good bye to anything she has touched," 
he whispered to himself^ as he looked around the room where she died, 
before closing the door. 

As the sun came up to view the vast desolation of drouth and wind, 
and the human wreckage miles away from all help and sympathy, 
John drove away from the House of Death. The early morning was 
cool and quiet, but after an hour the wind blew hot again over the long 
prairie spaces, and the children sobbed themselves to sleep calling for 
their mother, who lay so still beside them. 

Late in the afternoon John thought he heard the even hoof-beats 
of galloping horses, and then some one called from the road behind: 

"Hello! Where ye goin' traveler?" 

"I don't know," John murmured. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 2S 



"Have ye seen anything of cattle thieves on the road about here, 
pardner?" said a second cow boy, from the near side of the wagon. 

They were riding on each side of him now, and not understanding 
the question John shook his head. His only thought was to get the 
children and Susan where women could care for them. 

"Look a here, Dan, what's the use o' talkin' to this man. He's 
puttin' them airs on to fool us. What's he got that wagon covered 
tight down, a hot day Uke this fer?" growled Bill Tatum, as his friend 
dropped back in the road. 

"I don't know," replied Dan uneasily, "but he's sick, or some- 
thin's the matter." 

"Well, looky here, Dan, I ain't goin' to stand no nonsense. I 
think he's a cattle thief and theys some carcasses in there." 

"Now Bill, you're always so suspicious. I tell ye that man's sick." 

"Hold on, pardner," Bill cried, "Less see what's in yer wagon." 

"Yes," John answered, stopping the horses and turning his sunken 
eyes on the men. 

Bill Tatum got off his horse and raised the canvas of the wagon. 

"Oh my God!" man — Dan — Dan — " he cried with a dry throat, 
then turning to John, "Pardner, can yer forgive me? Say ye will," 
he uttered imperiously, in desperation. 

Dan walked over and looked in the wagon, and the children began 
to cry piteously. 

John told them in broken, jagged sentences of Susan's death alone 
on the wind swept plains with no woman near to care for her. "I 
could not leave her there," he finished despairingly. "You'll help me 
won't you?" he said, feehng the human nearness of the men now. 

"Pardner — John — don't ye know us — Dan and Bill?" The boys 
had both known and loved John and Susan and the babies. 

"Yes, o' course we'll help ye. Here Bill, tie our ponies to the horses, 
and get up there with John. I'll take keer o' the Uttle ones." Dan 
took the waiUng children in his arms, first reaching over tenderly to 
cover the pallid face from which the sheet had slipped. 

Bill drove the silent miles to the town on the railroad, not very 
far now. The women there who had sounded the deep waters of life 
on the prairies, took Susan's children to their hearts and tenderly cared 
for them in a friendly home. Dan stayed with the children, fearing 
they would be lonely if they awakened, sitting patiently outside the 
window where they slept. Bill went down the street on a painful. 



2 If. Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



unusual errand, and coming back in the twilight found the broken 
wreck of a man huddled on a bench in the yard. He put out his brown 
hand awkwardly as though grasping for something, and big cold drops 
came out on his face. 

"Pardner, there ain't no new lumber in town. Shall we make the 
coffin out of old lumber?" 

,"Yes," answered John, in a dreary, uneven voice. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



PAWNEE ROCK 
By Amanda T. Jones 

Blow gentle wind! The valiant sleep: 

Across each tawny breast, 
A million centuries will creep, 

And none disturb their rest. 
No arm will speed the arrow home, 

No fear the breath will stay; 
But lightly, on the turf, will roam 

The happy babes at play. 

Blow Winter wind! — make white plain 

Where Murder stalked of old! 
O cover well each crimson stain, 

Lest Innocence behold! 
But they who wandered, wander yet — 

Free as the bird that flies: 
For them, whatever sun may set, 

A grander sun shall rise. 

Blow Summer wind! No sobbing breath 

No funeral dirge be ours: 
Here Life and Love and blessed Death, 

Shall be content with flowers. 
Strong Rock, of thee it shall be said, 

While ages come and go, 
''See Freedom's banner over head, 

And beauteous Peace below." 

Blow jubilant wind! While mortals throng, 

Here shall the Rock remain, 
A brooding-place for birds of song, 

God's Altar on the plain. 
Here none his neighbor shall offend: 

Here passing to and fro. 
Swift souls will climb and souls descend; 

O, hit the eyes and know! 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



MR. TWO FACE'S STRATAGEM 
By W. Y. Morgan 

/V^ANY years ago, before the buffalo had disappeared from the 
2)Xf I- prairie; before the Santa Fe engine had brought car loads of 
emigrants, agricultural implements and reform politicians 
to mar the scene of original innocence; before the days of 
homesteads, primaries and drug stores, there dwelt in the peaceful 
valley of the White Woman a band of Pawnee Indians. The reason 
this valley is given as their home is that they were never there, for like 
some civilized successors, they were great on the gad, and roamed from 
one good hunting place to another, stopping occasionally in their wild 
nomadic life to enter a trading post where they could refine the savage 
nature by contact with civilization and the consumption of bad liquor. 

The chief of the Pawnee band was known to his followers as Two 
Face. Some authorities declare this name was given him on account 
of his power to quickly change the expression of his countenance; 
while others say it was because whenever he had a political job to give 
out, he always promised it to at least two men — a custom which still 
obtains in some parts of the short grass country. 

Two Face and Mrs. Two Face, for she was present, had a daughter 
who grew to young womanhood the pet of the tepee and the pride of 
the tribe. The story of her beauty went out among the Red Men from 
the Smoky Hill to the Arkansas and from the Ninnescah to the Cimar- 
ron. Her raven black hair streamed over her copper shoulders and 
down to the gown which was decollete to the waist. Her complexion 
was vermilion striped with blue on week days, and yellow on Sundays 
and legal hohdays. She stood four feet two inches in her stocking feet, 
although she did not wear stockings or harness. Her form was of the 
Indian fairy style, rounded some at the four corners and stooped over 
in the middle. Her laughing eyes twinkled like stars on a summer 
evening, one twinkUng up and the other twinkling down, making an 
appearance which the white people call ''cross eyed" but which among 
the Pmwnees was esteemed a realistic razzle dazzle. A simple skirt 
made of flour sacks marked the introduction of civilized customs, and 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 27 



with a pair of moccasins and a ring through the nose, completed her 
modest attire. 

The time came for the chieftain's daughter to have a husband, 
and Two Face was brought face to face with a hard problem. During 
the daughter's girlhood, he had promised her hand in marriage to any 
buck Indian who would set 'em up; and his tepee was threatened by a 
mob of angry suitors demanding the redemption of the promise. Two 
Face was a wise guy, and after getting the attention of the warriors, 
"he explained that he could not deliver the goods, as the girl's heart 
was set on bringing the biggest price that was ever paid for a squaw 
west of Cow Creek; and he further added that the Indian who bid the 
highest should get the girl and should in turn open a keg of nails just 
received from Fort Zarah; every man to furnish his own tin cup. 

The outfit moved to Pawnee Rock where the ceremony could be 
performed at the highest noon in that part of the territory. 

The first bid for the maid was six ponies, a high price, but it did 
not stand. First one chief would raise the price and then another until 
all were out except two — a brave young buck from the Walnut and a 
wrinkled but rich relic from the Medicine. It was plain that the maid 
loved the younger; but she also yearned for the honor of bringing a big 
price. So she smiled out of one eye at one, and out of the other eye 
, at the other, — a feat few can do because they are not built that way. 

The young lover reached his limit, and his voice trembled as he 
bid all he had — one hundred ponies branded on the right hind foot. 
The old scoundrel hesitated. He knew the girl loved the young fellow, 
and that their marriage would be best. Then he looked at the girl and 
she winked at him. "One hundred ponies and a yellow dog," he 
shouted at the hilarious Two Face who promptly said, "Going, going, 
got her." 

Tradition says that the old chief and his young bride lived as hap- 
pily as could be expected; and that he licked her often enough to show 
her her sphere. But among the Pawnees came the saying about any 
young woman who was making herself gay or dressing in style with 
bustle and puffs so as to bring a big price, that she was "putting on 
■dog." 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



SANTA FE TRAIL— NORTHERN BRANCH 
By George W. Martin 

/1K*^ANY statements have been made that the Santa Fe Trail did 

jJ4^^, not run on the North side of the Arkansas river above the 

Cimarron Crossing. From the best of authorities I have 

quoted to prove the fallacy of such assertions, that together 

they will become a matter of history. 

"When expeditions first began to be made from Missouri to Santa 
Fe, they ascended the Arkansas to the vicinity of where La Junta, 
Colorado now stands, and then turning south went first to Taos and 
then to Santa Fe. Even after the shorter trail was established across 
the desert, the route by the upper Arkansas continued to be used; for 
there was always a large amount of trade from that section. Bent's 
Fort was the great stopping place on this branch of the Trail." — Hiram 
M. Chittenden, American Fur Trade, vol. 2, p. 532. 

William Becknell was the first trader to cross the Arkansas to the 
Cimarron river, and thence up that stream to Santa Fe. This he did 
in the year 1822, with three wagons. — Chittenden, vol. 2, p. 501, 504. 

"On the 23rd (of October, 1846,) we came to the 'Cimarone' 
crossing of the Arkansas river — the shortest of the two routes to Santa 
Fe, which here diverge — one over the sand desert, void of water; and 
in the severe jornadas, the oxen often drop with thirst — the other 
following the river bank to Bent's Fort, crosses a spur of the Rocky 
Mountains — a longer, but safer and easier road." — Lewis H. Garrard. 
W^ah-to-yah, and the Taos Trail, p. 29. 

Josiah Gregg, in his "Commerce of the Prairies," published in 
1845, tells of a trip made by him in 1831 to Santa Fe. He struck the 
Arkansas at the Great Bend, and on account of the June rise which 
threatened, crossed that stream at some point below the Caches, and 
continued on up the river at least as far west as the Caches, which 
were situated on the north side, about five miles west of the present 
Dodge City. Here I quote from his journal: 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 29 



"Our route has already led us up the course of the Arkansas river 
for over a hundred miles, (to the Caches) yet the earlier caravans 
often passed from fifty to a hundred miles further up before crossing 
the river; (probably Hartland;) therefore nothing like a regular ford 
had ever been established. Nor was there a road, not even a trail, 
anywhere across the famous plain, (in 1831) extending between the 
Arkansas and Cimarron rivers, a distance of over fifty miles." V. 1, 
p. 70. 

Gregg made several round trips to Santa Fe over the Trail, and I 
here quote from his account of a return journey from Santa Fe made in 
the spring of 1853, to show how the way was made plain across to the 
Cimarron : 

"On our passage this time across the "prairie ocean" which lay 
before us, we ran no risk of getting bewildered or lost, for there was now 
a plain wagon trail across the entire stretch of our route, from the 
Cimarron to the Arkansas river. 

"This track which has since remained permanent, was made in 
the year 1834. Owing to continuous rain during the passage of the 
caravans of that year, a plain trail was then cut in the softened turf 
on the most direct route across this arid desert, leaving the Arkansas 
about twenty miles above the Caches. This has ever since been the 
regular route of the caravans." (Vol. 1, p. 311.) 

Returning to that branch of the trail running north of the Arkansas 
river, I quote also from Chittenden's "History of the American Fur 
Trade," vol. 2, p. 543: "The principal point on the mountain branch 
of the Santa Fe trail, was Bent's Fort, 530 miles (west of Fort Osage, 
INIo.) (or about 80 miles beyond the west line of Kansas, or near La 
Junta, Col.) This was in every respect one of the most important 
situations in the west. It was the great cross roads station of the 
southwest. The north and south route between the Platte river 
country and Santa Fe, and the east and west route up the Arkansas 
and into the mountains found this their most natural trading point. 

"This branch of the Trail crossed the river very nearly where La 
Junta now stands, and thence ran south, crossing Raton Pass, and 



so Echoes of Pawnee Rock' 



joined the main trail at Santa Clara Spring near Mora river. The 
mountain branch of the Santa Fe Trail has been closely followed by 
the Santa Fe Route of the present day." 

In regard to the various places where the Trail crossed the Arkansas 
in Kansas, Chittenden writes as follows: 

"The Ford of the Arkansas, 392 miles. This was the regular 
crossing after 1829, and was known as the Cimarron crossing. Its 
location is twenty miles above Dodge City. 

"There was another, or Lower Crossing, seventeen miles below 
Dodge City. It was near the mouth of Mulberry Creek at the extreme 
point of the large southern bend of the river. 

"The Upper Ford of the Arkansas, which was in use as late as 1829,. 
was located at Chouteau Island, just above where the town of Hartland,. 
Kansas now stands." (Chittenden, v. 2, p. 539-540.) 

Col. A. W. Doniphan's command of two regiments of Missouri 
Volunteers for the Mexican War, followed the trail along the north side 
of the river to Bent's Fort, about 80 miles west of the Kansas state 
line. On the 2nd day of July, 1846, the command started from Fort 
Leavenworth. On page 171 of Mr. Conelley's book, Col. John T. 
Hughes, the historian of the expedition says: "Early on the morning 
of the 21st, we continued our march, winding along the north margui 
of the river, leaving the main Santa Fe road by the Cimarron at the 
crossing." On the 29th they crossed the Arkansas eight miles below 
Bent's Fort and camped in Mexican territory. Page 181, he says:' 
"August 1st we moved up the river and encamped near Fort Bent." 

Page 635, Mr. Connelley says: "From Great Bend to Santa 
Fe the old trail was followed almost exactly by the Atchison, Topeka. 
and Santa Fe Railroad." 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock SI 

THE LAST BUFFALO HUNT NEAR PAWNEE ROCK 
By H. A. Bower 

nrrN February, 1874, I was employed in the blacksmith shop at Fort- 
Jl Lamed. The driver of the mail from Lamed station to the Fort,, 
while waiting for repairs to his outfit, remarked that it would be 
a cold night, and was wishing for a robe off of one of the buffalo 
the train crew on the Santa Fe west-bound train had seen that after- 
noon a few miles west of Pawnee Rock. 

The river being frozen, I knew they could not cross to the North side, 
and would be found somewhat south of the Rock. At this time a herd 
of any size was seldom seen east of Cimraron Crossing west of Fort 
Dodge; so I determined to have one more hunt for the big game. I 
interested three friends in Co. "C" 5th Infty. which was part of the 
garrison of the Fort. Their Captain secured their leave of absence for 
ten days. We were fitted out with a good team of six mules for a ten 
days trip. 

The next day was frightfully cold, but as this might be our last 
chance to get into a herd of any size, we got away about three in the 
afternoon, and made good time down the trail to Pawnee Rock. We 
camped in a sheltered spot near the railroad just west of the Rock. 
After supper, sitting around a roaring fire of railroad ties, we laid our 
plans for the next day. We concluded to go several miles below the 
Rock and leave the team, and three of us go across the river and see 
if we could strike the trail of the herd. Being old plainsmen, we sat 
around the fire until late, talking and listening to stories of frontier 
life, of scenes and incidents connected with the Santa Fe Trail and 
Pawnee Rock. 

The next morning there was a great change in the weather. The 
sun came up clear and bright, and I saw if we found our game we must 
do so soon or change our plans. After breakfast, three of us, Meyers, 
Kreher and myself, crossed the river, Kinsler and the teamster going 
several miles down the river with the team. Provided with plenty of 
ammunition and a fine field glass we crossed the river and went in a 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



south-east direction for about two hours, finding no signs of them, and 
"we could see miles to the south and east. We concluded to return and 
;get our camp further south as I was sure they had fed off to the south 
•or west. Getting back to the river near noon, I saw we could not cross, 
as the ice was breaking up. Not to be beaten out of our chance for 
sport, we went to the Bend to cross the river on a bridge. We crossed 
before sundown, and going southwest five or six miles camped for the 
night. 

The next morning we were off early, leaving the hungry coyotes to 
clean up camp; — their number made me feel sure there was game in 
the country, as they always followed the buffalo herds. A hea\'y fog 
had settled over the country. As we had a long way to go to find our 
game, we made the best time possible up Rattlesnake Creek until 
about ten o'clock, when we began to circle to the North-west. We 
knew we were nearly south of the Rock, and by keeping a little to the 
West we expected to find some trace of the herd. About twelve o'clock 
the fog lifted and we saw old signs of the buffalo. Kreher and myself 
were a half mile ahead of the team, Meyer and Kinsler a little to the 
west; the hills to the north showing we were near the Arkansas. We 
were on the lookout and from the top of a low ridge we saw a pretty 
stretch of level plain a mile or more wide and, joy of the trip, just coming 
out of the hills from towards the Rock, we saw a splendid bunch of about 
fifty buffalo. 

In a moment we were out of sight. I attracted the attention of 
Meyer and Kinsler and signalled the team to stop. In a few moments 
our plans were made. Kreher and myself should crawl as far into the 
valley as possible. We were enabled to do this by a ring of tall grass 
growing around a large buffalo wallow into wliich we got; and as they 
were feeding along nicely, we did not have long to wait. The herd 
kept close together with a fine three-year-old cow in the lead. They 
came into range about sixty yards east of us. I fired my first shot at 
the side of her head. She stood still, but the rest broke into two 
bunches, fourteen going east and the rest south-west. jMeyers, v/lio 
was a short distance west of us, called to me and we started on the 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



run after the bunch going east, firing as we ran until we had them all 
down but one cow and her calf. We got the cow near the top of the 
ridge east of the Valley. The calf seemed to be charmed, for we sat 
down on the short grass and fired several shots at it, but it disappeared 
over the ridge. Turning we saw our work: — fourteen dead buffalo in 
sight. Returning to the wagon, all hands got to work and we soon had 
our team loaded all they could haul, and started the team eastward 
towards the Bend. Meyer and myself walked north to the highest 
sand hill and stood in full view of Pawnee Rock a few miles to the north- 
west, while away to the west we could see with the glass the last of our 
game drifting off towards Medicine Lodge Creek. 

The next day at noon we ate our last buffalo steak in the shadow 
of Pawnee Rock. After dinner we all clambered up to the scarred 
summit, noting the names of hundreds of men whose lives are part of 
the history of the great trail that passes under what was at that time the 
most noted landmark of the western plains — Pa^vnee Rock. 



34 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 

THE MARKING OF THE SANTA FE TRAIL 

By Grace Meeker 

;VERYBODY in Kansas who had any interest in its early history 

had heard of the Santa Fe Trail before 1905. Since that date, 

all Kansans not only know of the Trail, but also where it runs; 

and that its length is marked at intervals by handsome granite 

boulders. 

The story of its marking really begins about 1903. At the fourth 
annual Conference of the Kansas Daughters of the American Revo- 
lution, held that year in Ottawa, Mrs. Fannie Geiger Thompson, then 
State Regent, presented the project as one very well worthy the at- 
tention of the Daughters. Mrs. William E. Stanley, who succeeded 
Mrs. Thompson as State Regent, took up the matter with enthusiasm; 
and it is to her untiring efforts that the successful completion of the 
marking is largely due. 

With only four chapters to begin the work, it seems surprising 
that the Daughters had the courage to make the attempt. It would 
not have been possible without the hearty co-operation of the State 
Historical Society. The Historical Society, with the assistance of 
Honorable Victor Murdock, who found the original in the War De- 
partment in Washington, had a copy made of the map of the Govern- 
ment surveys of 1827 and 1856, together with the field notes. Com- 
mittees were appointed from both societies, and an appropriation of 
one thousand dollars asked for from the legislature of 1905. A bill 
setting aside this sum was passed. 

Wishing to emphasize the educational value of the Trail marking 
as well as interest the whole people of Kansas, the Daughters prepared 
a program for the schools. With the kindly aid of the state, county 
and district officers, "Kansas Day" became "Trail Day" in 1906, and 
a penny collection was taken. Some very excellent essays were written 
for prizes, the topics being "The Santa Fe Trail" or Kansas history of 
the writers choosing. The Lawrence schools won the flag offered to 
the city schools making the largest contribution to the fund. By this 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 35 



collection, $584.40 was added to the fund, making the total $1584.40. 
A red granite from Oklahoma was decided upon, to be appro- 
priately lettered. A contract was made with Mr. C. W. Guild of 
Topeka, to furnish the markers at sixteen dollars each. His work 
proved very satisfactory. The Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Rail- 
way Company agreed to carry the stones to all points along its lines — a 
donation much appreciated. 

Great enthusiasm was found in all the counties along the Trail. 
So generously did the officers and citizens co-operate in the work of 
setting the stones, that the money sufficed to place eighty-nine markers. 
In Secretary Martin's printed report of the thirty-second annual 
meeting of the State Historical Society will be found a detailed account 
of the distribution of the boulders and the exact spot in which each 
stands. By this report, it will be found that one more marker was paid 
and receipted for than the records of the office show — a puzzle not yet 
solved. However, no one finds cause for anxiety in so advantageous a 
mistake. 

Besides the boulders paid for by this general fund, seven special 
ones have been purchased. Four of these contain the handsome 
bronze plate designed by Mrs. M. M. Miles of Kansas City. These 
tell the story of the Trail so plainly and so beautifully, that it is hoped 
more special markers containing them will be used. 

SterUng chapter of the D. A. R. was first to set a marker on the 
Trail. It stands between Lyons and Sterling. 

Topeka chapter placed at Burlingame a memorial stone in memory 
of Mrs. Fannie Geiger Thompson. 

Lawrence and Ottawa chapters combined in putting a special 
marker, with one of the bronze tablets inserted, near Baldwin where 
it faces a bit of the Trail still in use. 

Wichita chapter has a stone ready for placing. This also will 
have the bronze story of the wagon train. 

Johnson county, beside setting five stones furnished from the 
fund, erected two fine monuments containing the bronze tablet — one 
in the city square at Olathe and one in Gardner. Also at Lone Elm — 



56 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



a place of special interest because there the trails from Independence 
and Westport joined, — a foundation stone with inscription was added 
to the stone furnished. 

Under the Council Oak at Council Grove, a large marker was 
erected, the price of three usual markers being used. In this stone was 
placed a box containing historical material. 

On the site of Fort Zarah in Barton county, the money collected 
by the school children was apphed to the setting of a cannon on a ped- 
estal seven feet high. 

* At the setting of all these special monuments, appropriate cere- 
monies were held, and, in many cases, the smaller boulders were set 
with fitting celebration. A careful record has been made of the names 
of schools donating to the fund, and of the men who gave time and money 
to set the stones; yet there are many who helped, whose names are not 
recorded, to whom the people of Kansas, represented by the two societies 
are none the less grateful. 

The interest taken in the marking of the Trail has been wonderful 
and the Daughters of the American Revolution congratulate themselves 
that they undertook the work before it was too late. There were those 
still hving who travelled and hved beside the Trail, and could be sure 
the stones were rightly placed. Many are near the line of the Santa Fe 
Railway, and travellers can see from the windows red granite boulders 
of irregular shape bearing upon a smoothed face the inscription: — 
"Santa Fe Trail 1822-1872. Marked by the Daughters of the American 
Revolution and the State of Kansas, 1906." 

A stone was placed in Pawnee Rock, Barton count}', but the his- 
toric old landmark, Pawnee Rock required more than a mere marker. 
The Daughters were glad to join the Woman's Kansas Day Clul) and 
other womens' organizations in the splendid work of its preservation. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 37 

THE SIMPLE LIFE IN A DUGOUT 

By Adolph Roenigk 

'N writing of our frontier experiences, we scarcely mention the 
women, which sounds like the big "I" and little "You." The 
fact is, they did their share. 

In character, they were the same as the men. While there 
were some bad women about those frontier towns, there were many 
excellent wives who shared with their husbands the hardships of a 
life on the plains in order that they might build homes for themselves. 

Most every station along the line of railroad had a woman who 
boarded the men. These women endured all kinds of inconvenience 
and privation. To the west of our station, the nearest woman was ten 
miles distant; to the east, seventeen miles. They did not know each 
other; never met. There were no neighbors north and south. For 
months, some times years, they saw no face of their own sex — only 
faces of men. In that respect, it was much harder for them than for us. 
At times they had to endure things that women of today would not 
consider for a moment. Thank God for these women! The country 
needed them. 

At the Fossil Creek station, we had a good woman, Mrs. John Cook, 
wife of the station keeper. Although she had only a common school 
education, she was naturally very intelligent. She was twenty-four 
and her husband thirty-five; they had a boy four years old. Mrs. 
Cook was nice appearing, kind hearted, of the best disposition and a 
model housekeeper. The way she knew how to cook buffalo steak — 
I remember it yet! We used only the hind quarters of the buffalo 
which were so numerous that often the meat was not half used up until 
we had fresh again. 

Many of the men were of a roving disposition — always some going 
and coming. I was the only one admitted to the family circle. We 
read no papers and knew nothing of what was going on back East, 
but there was no end of topics to talk about when I visited them in 
their dugout evenings. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



This dugout was perhaps four feet under ground and two feet above; 
fifteen feet wide by twenty-six feet long. A row of square sawed 
railroad ties for uprights, extended through the center of the room 
and supported the ridgepole — a bridge timber. The rafters were or- 
dinary railroad ties placed close together, and the whole covered with 
dirt deep enough to let no rain through. On the east, south and west 
was a small window; a larger one and a door faced the north. From 
the outside, save for the small windows, it looked like a mound of dirt. 
The other three dugouts (the men's quarters) were of a more temporary 
kind, but Cook's home was one of the solid structures of the day; and 
I can yet remember with what pride he pointed out to me its excel- 
lencies when I first landed at the station. 

In Saint Louis, I had learned to play the German Zither, and 
having plenty of leisure, I sent for my instrument and used to play it 
of evenings for the family. 

These people were good providers. An unoccupied dugout was 
fixed up for the reception of a lot of chickens which Cook went East to 
procure. They were principally fed on buffalo meat, and how they 
did lay! We had fresh eggs on our table all winter. 

On May 1869, the Indians attacked us while we were working on 
the railroad, some distance from the station. Two of our men were 
killed and four wounded. I myself was so severely shot through the 
lungs that spurts of blood came from my mouth and nose. We hur- 
ried to Cook's dugout. All was hustle and excitement. The table, 
heaped with ammunition, was placed in the center of the room; the guns 
were made ready for the expected attack. We six men had four re- 
peating and seven breech-loading rifles, besides revolvers, and could 
have kept at bay any number of Indians. They were hovering around 
the station, but knew better than to come within rifle range. I stood 
at the little west window, rifle in hand, wishing for the Indians to come. 
I had a feeling of revenge. 

W^hile waiting, I stripped my shirt over my head to examine my 
wound. A bullet hole was in the center of my breast, Mrs. Cook 
happened to see it, and with tears streaming down her face, sympathized 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock gg 

with me, She thought I was going to die, and for the first few hours 
after being shot, I had no idea of getting well again. I judged myself 
by those poor buffalo whom we shot through the lungs. 

The other wounded men were lying on the floor, subject to call 
should we be attacked. I also lay down and said my prayers. I 
was raised a Lutheran. 

For two days, we four railroad men lay in this woman's single 
appartment, which was her parlor, her dining room and her boudoir. 
Meanwhile, the train which had been wrecked by Indians, was being 
put on the track by a wrecking crew. 

The next morning, a kind-hearted passenger of the wrecked train, 
helped me wash my bloody face, and gave me an arrow from the body 
of one of the dead men. In 1877, I sent it to the State Historical 
Society where I saw it a few years ago. 

The same train which bore us to the hospital at Fort Harker, 
carried the Cook family and their household goods to Salina. 

When the soldiers were ordered there, as to all other stations along 
the line, the Cooks returned to abandoned Fossil Creek. 

It required some courage for that woman, having gone through 
this experience, to try again. But there was a certain fascination about 
that kind of life— that simple life, after one had a taste of it. 

The railroad gave me an easy job in the eastern part of the state, 
but in the fall when I thought of the antelope and the buffalo and the 
great sport we had— I too returned to the station. Again I visited 
the Cook family in their dugout; once more we were together as if 
nothing had happened; again I played the zither for them. 



Jfi Echoes of Pawnee Rock 

A MOTHER OF PIONEERS 
By Amanda T. Jones 



PRELUDE 
"The White Brother" 

/^ LAD, waking out of tranquil sleep, saw a tall gentleman, stand- 
Jjf^, ing near, who looked at him very pleasantly. 
"Are you another doctor?" he inquired. 

"You are no longer in need of a doctor," the gentleman 
answered. "I am Brother DeangeUs." 

The lad laughed with delight. "I beheve you are right. I do not 
feel sick in the least. How glad mama will be !" He sat up and looked 
about eagerly. "Mama," he called. 

"She does not hear you," said the other. But she fully understands 
that you are well. Can you not be contented without her for a time?" 

"Oh, if she is resting, she must not be disturbed. Poor mama! 
I have been very troublesome to her lately. Are you a friend of hers, 
Mr. DeangeUs?" 

"Brother Deangelis," corrected the gentleman. "Yes, I am an old 
friend. But she knew me by another name. This one was given 
me wlien I joined the Order — the Brotherhood." 

"An Order? Is it anything hke the Ilnights Hospitallers? I 
have read about them. They took care of the sick and wounded in the 
time of the Crusades — ever so long ago; and they wore black robes 
with white crosses stitched on them. But your robe is altogether 
white, Brother Deangehs. That is a curious name. It sounds Hke 
Latin. I have studied Latin two terms. De-an-gel-is; it must mean 
from the angels." 

"You translate well. It would please me to superintend yor.r 
studies. In fact my order is called the Brotherhood of Instruction. 
Will you come with me to our school?" 

"Oh, thank you! But I must consult mama." 

"If she were here, you should. But T have a certain right of guard- 
ianship conferred by licr, and I know that she would quite approve. 
Still I do not insist; I only invite," 

"I will go with you most gladly, only if we are to walk, I rnay 
be a hindrance. I cannot keep step with a man as tall as you. I 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock j^i 



might run, but people who have been so sick as I have been, are uirually 

weak; though I do not feel so in the least." 

"I am strong as well as tall," said the White Brother. With that^ 
he lifted Harry lightly and carried him out into the sunshine. There 
was a soft breeze playing and the June verdure was fresh with rain. 

"I never saw so many flowers blooming at one time," said the lad.. 
"When I drive the cows in from the prairie toward night, I pick the 
prettiest I see for mama who is very fond of wild flowers. I suppose no. 
one has thought of doing that while I have been in bed. How beauti- 
ful the butterfly-weed is at this season." 

"Very beautiful. Have you studied botany?" 

"Just a little with mama. But that was in the East; these prairie 
flowers are not like those at home. I only know a few of them by 
name— such as mama has analyzed. May I ask you to stand still a 
moment? There must be something wrong about my eyes. All 
these plants look double. The sunhght shines on them but another 
kmd of light seems to be shining in them. I should think they give 
out flames, if that were possible. There are real butterfly-weeds, 
and 'make-believe ones; but the make-beheves are far more wonderful. 
I never heard of flowers made out of fire, living inside of real ones! 
I shall pick some for mama when we return." 

"Your vision is clearer than it was, Harry. You have seen only 
the earthly part of plants heretofore — their bodies. Now you also see 
their souls." 

"But I thought only human beings had souls." 

"Observe this honey-locust," said Brother Deangelis. "See 
what a soft illumination pervades the tree through all its roots and 
branches; you can even see the deepest root, though there is no sun- 
shine under ground to see by. That is the soul-tree, and it cannot be 
destroyed. If any woody bough gets broken off or bhghted, its light 
is not put out, but keeps the soul-shape still." 

"Forever?" 

"I think so; though to actually know it, I too must live forever. 
We are taught that outer forms exist only a Httle time, but inner 
forms or soul-forms are not subject to decay." 

"But suppose the woody tree stops growing, or is stnick by light- 
ning and killed, will the flame-tree live and keep on growing?" 

"Oh, yes! For the flame itself is matter of a finer kind. It will 



J^2 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



,go on building itself larger out of particles of light. If you and I 
could see it a million years from now, it would be resplendent." 

"That means very exceedingly bright." mused Harry. "And 
-will that same thrush be singing on the top branch tliat is singing now — 
I mean the soul of that same thrush?" 

"It may be. That will be for him to choose. Trees are rooted, 
but birds may come and go." 

"This tree makes me think of the burning bush that Moses saw. 
But that was God," the boy added in a whisper, 

"And what is this?" 

"Why, I suppose that God is everywhere," said Harry softly, 
looking back, as the White Brother walked along. "How I would 
love to see that honey-locust all in bloom, a million years from now. 
But that can never be." 

"Why not?" 

"Because we have to die." But now the boy ttlrned and looked 
into the deep eyes of Brother Deangelis. "I think I know what you 
mean. If the earthly form of me were to die, the soul of me might 
find the tree again, just as the soul of the thrush may find it. If that 
is what dying means, nobody need be sorry." 

Presently the lad began to tremble. Then he hid his face in the 
White Brother's breast. "Tell me "h.e whispered, is "mama very 
sorry?/' 

"Very! but it comforts her to know that you are with me." 

"How can she know?" 

"She knows because she loves." 

But now Brother Deangels went '^n very swiftly. ' Harry clinging 
to him, not once looking up, did nrt real ze tn!it; but after some time, 
when his eyes were no longer wot, '.e rn sd .is head and looked over 
his bearer's shoulder. 

"I never saw such loveb' pbocs," > e murmured. "I did not 
know the world was half so ' c i tif^ 1. No wonder people love to 
travel." 

"I must tell you" replied ' 's 'u- . "t1 -'t wo ■ 'm. b 't the earth. 
Look back and tell me wbnt ~ 

"I must be very brovc." Deangehs 

would not wish me to 1 ( 

"I see a great gl*-^ e" ' > .If that is 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 43 



the earth, of course it whirls very fast. How could we see anything that 
is on it, unless we should go around with it? But I do see oceans and 
lands. I know their names too, for I have drawn maps of them." 

"You have learned some Philosophy, Harry, as well as Botany 
and Geography. Yes, we are still within the earth's outer circle, 
though we seem a good way off. But souls have very clear, quick 
eyes and see more in the milhonth part of a second, than we could see 
when we looked through earthly eyes. Can you not discern your old 
home even now, in spite of the whirling?" 

"Yes! yes! and there is the honey-locust. How it shines! How 
everything shines! I see it is just the same with other things as with 
flowers and birds. The earth's outside form is what we see by sun- 
shine, but its inside form, the real world, shines of itself. Why, even 
the whole earth has a soul it seems!" 

"Nothing exists, Harry, without some sort of a soul. Yours is a 
greater soul, — a living, thinking, loving one. That of the world we are 
leaving, is a sort of electric soul. But it does much more than to 
shine. It keeps hfe in everything that grows on it. It kept life in 
your growing body, till that long fever wasted your physical particles. 
But now, being a soul yourself, you will keep on growing — gathering 
particles of hght. A milhon years from now you will be resplendent, 
I imagine." 

"Brother Deangehs, people used to say — ministers often said it — 
that the earth will some time iDurn up. Now what harm would that be? 
The soul of it would be left and the souls of all the people and of all 
growing things. Would the soul-trees bear fruit?" 

"Yes, Harry; for the healing of the nations." 

"I remember the Bible says, twelve manner of fruits, twelve 
months in the year. And there will be souls of birds flying around and 
singing. Perhaps the souls of animals live too." 

"Certainly." 

"What!— hons? But they kill!" 

"What could they kill?" 

"Oh, nothing, surely! They would just have to be good. 
Maybe they always wanted to be, only they were obliged to eat." 

"Like men." . 

"Ye-es. — why, of course! Men kill animals and eat them. I 
would rather think about other things, Brother Deangelis. We are 
a long way from earth now. How fast we have travelled. But I see 



/ / Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



the soul of the earth, shming out of its bright body— a great deal 
brighter though than the body. It is already resplendent. How 
clearly we see it through empty space!" 

"Is the space empty, Harry?" 

"It seemed so while I was looking across at the earth. Now I 
look close by, things are coming into sight again. I said I saw lovely- 
places, but then I thought we were yet on earth. Here are hills and 
valleys and forests and waterfalls. Empty?. -How could I have 
looked through and not have seen all this? And there are steeples 
showing among the trees, and villages and palaces off by themselves. 
Do rich people Hve in the great houses and poor people in the small 
ones?" 

"There are no poor and no rich in the sense you mean. In another 
sense there are, for great thoughts make folks rich, and here they think 
out for themselves the houses they wish to Uve in." 

"Brother Deangelis, how mama would love to see all these flowers! 
It seems that all the kinds I ever knew are growing here, as though 
the time of year could make no difference. There is the pink laurel 
on that hill. I used to climb the hills for that in Massachusetts; and 
here are sensitive roses — they are Western. Mama delighted in them I 
O, look! There is a picnic I think! Men and women sitting under 
trees and girls and boys at play! There is a boy tossing a ball. He 
sees me and he laughs. It is most strange to see all this where I al- 
ways supposed there was nothing at all. Are there any empty spaces?"^ 

"No Harry! There is always something to see, if only the eyes 
are clear." 

"How soft the light is! Like morning before the sun rises. Does 
the sun ever rise over these places? They all seem to shine of them- 
Belves. How swiftly you walk Brother DeangeHs!" 

"Look up, Harry!" 

The lad, Hfted his eyes. A high, green tableland interposed 
between him and the lower horizon. Upon this tableland was a tem- 
ple so vast that it might well contain all the people who ever lived, or 
ever will Uve, on earth; for it stretched away to the North and to the 
South, and never any end so far as the eye could see. It hid the rising 
sun, for Harry and the White Brother stood on its Western side. There 
was certainly a sun behind it, for its walls were translucent and the 
light came through. Now those walls were of many-colored stones — 
chrysoberyl, chalcedony, jasper and jancith; so that the light cast 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock /g 

their wonderful, soft colors all along the greensward and through in- 
numerable -showering fountains. 

^ But Harry, looking to see the light thereof, wondered at the tops 
of Its battlements and bastions, its sapphire domes and innumerable 
pmnacles— all seeming to be set on fire by the blazing Eastern sun, 
so that streamers of hght went out from them into the far-off skies 
'They stream so far away" thought Harry, "that if mama would onh 
look up she might see!" 

Then Harry turned and looked again into the tender eyes oi 
Brother Deangelis; and therein, at last, he saw something more 
marvellous to him than all beside. 

''O papa." he cried aloud. And the White Brother laughed and 
kissed him on both cheeks. 

Now those that had passed through that temple to farther countries 
were in number as many as the waves of the sea; and those who remamed 
therein, or returned again at their will, were countless as the sands of 
the shore. And yet, when another was brought in just then, to be 
sweetly cherished and instructed after their manner, there was room 
and to spare. Moreover I do not believe that any one of them all had 
ever so much as thought of shutting the door. 

POSTLUDE 

"The White Sister" 

jpiFTY-TWO years ago there came to old Fort Leavenwori;h, a 
Jl Massachusetts family— pioneers from vigorous impulse, rather 
than from poverty. Numbering them: There was a mother; 
there were seven sons, three daughters, also three sons' wives 
and httle children. All of these started with several wagons, very well 
equipped, and took the trail toward Santa Fe, but turned aside in cen- 
tral Kansas. There they found a river and a fertile land, where cool 
ravines and spreading prairies promised homes for all there were and 
all there might be— should the tribe increase. 

The father, greatly loved, had started on his travels nine years 
earlier, when the youngest boy was but a twelvemonth old. Some 
«aid he had not gone away at all but just went out,— as though he had 

S/k-^ i^"^ l^^'P ''' '?^^^ ^^ ^^^- I o^^y know that he made ready, 
called his eldest son and said to him: "When I am gone, stay always 
•with your mother." So Richard stayed, and all the rest had stayed tiU 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 

Bhe herself said: "Children, there is nothing here to keep me but a 
she, nerseii, saia abroad! You must have room to grow m. 

faT^rung eS It beS tUplanting-only forty eight !, And here 
is Harry only ten, but weakly-much in need of change 

So here they were in this perturbed bright Kansas, not afraid and 
not unhappy only hard at work; till after two years Harry died-that 
fs tW said'^'he ied. In those days people talked o dying justas 
though it could be done; and even yet so-n<= P^'opl^ t^lk ''''''"* *« 
"Deil." It seems to make them happy to be miserable 

Now Harry went away in June, riince then the earth had rolled 
iust fifty years around the sun, when this that I must tell you came 
ihnnt not half a year ago. Whatever may have happened since— 
:yrnro?rairro^ Icciden^ts, or mine-disasters, (little things like thosel) 

•"'^ :Voth1r"Tra M*hd"y; From 1808 to 1908, she had county 
up her years, then sighed at lastand said: "Today I am a hundred. 
T pan rount if I am rather old." , , ... 

Every vear on mother's birthday, which had also been her weddmg 
day, there had been many presents-some of them from far away- 
NiL children hved and none of them forgot. Richard the oldest 
?^boy" was not so very old-seventy or thereabouts. He had always 
lived with "mother" The rest had left the homestead by the honey- 
ocust long ago. Three of the boys had jomed the army ;-all had 
brought away a wound or two and had felt the better or it all their 
Uves Sooner or later every boy and girl had been to col ege and knew 
a little more because of that, and other boys and girls belonging to the 
tribe in general, had learned to parse in Greek, or Latin anyhow. 

This year of all the years, the absent ones came home, to greet 
each other— and to consecrate with love that birthday morning— 

''"^'Theylild^^^^^ overnight, from CaUfornia, from Washington, 

from South America, and other places near or faMven from Hin- 
dostan, one being a missionary. They had slept in the North Chamber, 
in the South Chamber, in the roomy attic, in several wing-bedrooms 
on the porches, in the cubby holes. They had swung in hammocks 
under the orchard-trees, they had cramped themselves on cots cuddled 
down in cribs, cUmbed up to hay-lofts, slept in rockmg-chairs! 

Wives with their husbands, husbands with their wives and child- 
ren's children with their wives and husbands, together with the little 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock J^7 



fry — all being counted up next morning, made an even hundred. So 
everybody laughed. 

At noon was feast ing-time. Tables were set around the locust- 
tree and imder it was mother's chair. There was a canvas roof to save 
them from the sun and keep the flowers from wilting; — "Mother is 
fond of flowers/' they said, — and put a hundred on her tray.. Her 
great-grand-daughter had dressed her all in white, — warm, soft, white 
flannel, because if some chance breeze should blow she had a way of 
shivering: "Its blustering weather yet," And there were costly 
laces round her throat and wrists, partly to hide the wrinkles, but more 
to make her think of that white wedding- day seventy- five years before — 
for she had worn those very laces then and they became her yet. And 
one had pinned a rose on her breast; and all had said, "How very 
young she looks." 

And when she had risen up and let them help her down the steps, 
she put them all aside, and walked alone. So many of them said 
"How very young she is." 

The tables had been set for just a hundred; and all the seats 
were filled. About the middle of the feast two gentlemen appeared. 
There were no seats for them. In fact nobody noticed them, although 
they stood by mother's chair and Hstened to the talk with smiling faces. 
They even laid their hands upon the mother; but she never turned her 
head. If she had turned, she would have seen them probably, for she 
had got her second sight, and saw quite well the roses on her tray. 

After the feast, they loitered at the table, for mother, who seldom 
spoke of late, begun to talk and all the httle ones were told to hush, 
though only those near by could hear a word she said. 

"Fifty-two years ago we came to Kansas. I wish your father 
could have come with us. I've had to live without him since I was 
forty-three. You think that I am getting old, but I remember just 
as well as anybody. I've always tried to be contented here, but Harry 
died just fifty years ago and I've been lonesome ever since." 

One of her daughters spoke up loud and said: "You had nine 
children left, mama, and they are all alive and with you here today. 
And tliere are ninety-one besides who all belong to you. Surely you 
never lacked for company." 

"Oh, you are all good children — all that's left of you! But Harry 
looked most like his father. It almost broke my heart to have him 
die. I'm not complaining though. You are all good children as you 



j^8 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



ought to be with such a father. Still I missed our Massachusetts 
neighbors. My folks were much respected. We had good society and I 
had many friends, I suppose the most of them are dead." 

"But we had many neighbors here," another shouted; people 
came and settled all around us." 

"So they did; they were good neighbors too. Still you must think 
I'm lonely. Father and mother died before we came; there was a 
big family — fourteen children. I was one of the youngest. I have not 
heard from them for many years. They may be dead for all I know. 
I thought a great deal of my grand-parents — no doubt they are dead 
though we are a long lived people. So far as I can tell, I haven't even 
an uncle or an aunt." 

Some of the young folks smiled; and one who was only six 
whispered: "Isn't my great-great grandma rather queer?" 

The two tall gentlemen who stood behind her chair smiled also; 
but the tears ran down their faces. And one of them, who looked, 
like Harry all grown up, said softly: (no one heard him but the other!) 
"I think mama's been old quite long enough," 

And the White Brother answered: "That is why we came.. All 
the White Sisters of the Temple wait and watch for her. The doors 
are always open." 

Now when the mother, being tired, stopped her talking, two of 
her younger sons took up her cushioned chair and carried her into the 
parlor. Then they kissed her and went out and shut the door. But 
those white gentlemen whom no one saw, had followed after. They 
remained within. 

After an hour or so had passed, some who must go away, went in 
to say "good-bye" and there was her white raiment lying in the chair, 
but she, herself, was nowhere to be found. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock ^p 



KANSAS 
By Laura Alton Payne 



PAST 



An endless stretch of arid plain, 

A scorching sky; 
A vastness that benumbs the brain 

And mocks the eye; 
A loneliness the soul doth chain 

Where bleached bones lie; 
A silence pierced with wild refrain 

Of coyote's cry. 

PRESENT 

An endless stretch of golden grain, 

A smiling sky; 
Cool groves that stud an emerald plain 

Delight the eye; 
Here sheltered school and humble fane 

And fair homes lie, 
And echo to the sweet refrain 

Of childhood's cry. 



50 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



SOME REMINISCE^XES 
By Gov. W. E. Hoch 

-^/N the spring of 1872, to be exact on the 21st day of April of that 
II year, fourteen young men from Kentucky set foot for the first 
time upon Kansas soil, in the little town of Russell. They 
stayed all night there, loaded their trunks and other equipage, 
including a newly bought cooking stove and utensils upon a wagon; 
and as the morning sun was just gilding the eastern horizon, they started 
for their destination across a bleak prairie to Pawnee Rock, if I am 
correct, nearly fifty miles away. It was their intention to walk half the 
distance the first day and camp at a creek, which embellished the map 
all right, but which when reached was as dry as will be this paper; so 
that for the want of water, these foot sore pioneers traveled on the 
whole distance to Pawnee Rock, reaching there near midnight. 

Let me describe one of these Pawnee pioneers. He was a long, 
lean, lank, pale faced, young fellow from a Kentucky city. He wore in 
his shirt front a dazzhng breastpin, and his lily white hands were en- 
cased in black kid gloves. He carried a Httle rattan cane on that 
memorable tramp. He lost that breastpin, and ruined the kid gloves, 
but he retained for many years, and may have yet the rattan cane as a 
reminder of pioneer days at Pawnee Rock. The other young fellows 
were much like him, and he shall be nameless here. 

This company of Kentucky boys built the first little house, a 
structure fourteen by sixteen feet in size, dug the first well and laid 
the foundation for the present town of Pawnee Rock. The rock itself, 
a remarkable formation of nature, had been then untouched by the 
devastating hand of the ballast fiend. There were countless names 
carved upon it, dating back one hundred and fifty years. The old 
Santa Fe trail, which ran close by its base, was still plainly visible. 
A stone stockade still stood there, behind which several groups of 
travelers had fought fierce battles with the Indians. 

The only white persons I saw during my brief stay there, besides 
those composing our own company, were passing soldiers from Fort 
Larned, then a military post. I staked out a claim but never filed upon 
it, and after a very short stay left, with a few others, for Marion County 
where I located and which has ever since been my home. The country 
surrounding Pawnee Rock gave no promise at that time of becoming 
the rich agricultural country it now is. 

Pawnee Rock is an historic spot and the efforts of the Woman's 
Kansas Day Club to preserve it is a patriotic and highly commendable 
one, and as an old Pawnee pioneer, I am personally proud to help per- 
petuate it. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock ^^ 



THE WONDERFUL PAWNEE ROCK 
By RoBKET M.;,Wright 
^N a beautiful spring morning in early May, 1859, I was awakened 
at break of day— having gone into camp the preceding evenmg 
after dusk— by the singing of birds and the lowing of cattle, and 
last, but not least, the harsh and discordant voice of the wagon 
boss— of whom I stood in wholesome fear— calhng: "Roll out! roll 
out!" to the men as the cattle were driven into the corral to yoke up 
and get started. Indeed, all nature seemed aUve and pouring out the 
sweetest notes on that lovely morning when I first saw the great rock. 
It was, indeed, a curious freak of nature, rising abruptly out of a 
fertile stretch of bottom land several miles wide, three or four mdes 
north of the Arkansas River, which flowed sluggishly along its way, 
its muddy current on its usual spring rise, caused by the meltmg of 
snow in the mountains. The time of year, the ideal weather and the 
lovely greensward, interspersed with most beautiful variegated wild 
flowers, combined to make one of the most beautiful sights I ever 
witnessed. The scene impressed itself not only upon me, but the other 
drivers— "Bull whackers," we are called— shared my admiration, and, 
through our united petition to the wagon boss, the train was halted 
long enough to allow of our going to the rock, from the summit of which 
I obtained the grand view that so impressed me. It seemed as if I 
could never tire of gazing on the wonderful panorama that spread before 

The road, if recollection serves me right, ran only a few hundred 
feet south of the base of the rock, parallel to its face. The rock faced 
the south, rearing itself abruptly, and presenting almost a perpendicular 
front with a comparatively smooth surface, having thousands of names 
inscribed on its face, and also on a great many slabs that had, in the 
process of time and exposure to the elements, been detached from its 
top and sides and lay fiat at its base. Most of the names were those of 
"Forty-niners" who had taken that route in their mad rush for the 
gold fields of California during that memorable year \mong the 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



names cut in the rock were those of officers and enlisted men in the 
United States army, as well as a number of famous men and frontiers- 
men. 

There were also a great many Indian paintings, or pictographs, 
and hieroglyphics done by the red men — crude and laughable, and some 
of them extraordinarily funny; but I have been told since,, there was a 
great deal of significance attached to these paintings, some of them 
portraying important tribal history, others representing brave and 
heroic deeds, performed by members of the tribes. 

Of course, there were a great many stories told of the rock, romances 
the most of them, I suppose. 

An old plainsman and mountaineer told me that the name 
"Pawnee Rock" was taken from a great fight lasting several days, 
between the Pawnees and their life-long enemies, the Plains Indians 
composed of a mixed band of Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas, Comanches 
and a few Sioux, all pitted against the Pawnees, and numbering more 
than ten to one. What a desperate battle it was! 

The Pawnees had come over to the Arkansas on their usual buffalo 
hunt, and, incidentally, to steal horses from their enemies, the Plains 
Indians. They crossed the river and proceeded south, penetrating 
deep into the enemy's country, where a big herd of ponies grazed and 
lived in supposed security. The Pawnees reached the herd without 
arousing the least suspicion of the owners that the animals were in 
danger. Surrounding and cutting out what they wanted, they started 
on the return trip, greatly elated over their easy success, and reached 
the Arkansas River without meeting with the slightest resistance, 
but found the river very high and out of its banks. Then their trouble 
began. The ponies refused to take the river, which delayed them con- 
siderably. In the meantime, the band of Indians, composed of Chey- 
ennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas, Comanches and a few Sioux, was on a 
buffalo hunt, too, when some of them discovered the trail of the Pawnees 
and quickly notified the others. They all gave chase, overtaking the 
Pawnees just as they were crossing the Arkansas. The Pawnees 
might still have gotten away, had they abandoned the stolen horses; 
but this they refused to do until it was too late. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 5S 



Finally, pressed on all sides by overwhelming odds, they were 
glad to retreat to the rock where they made a final stand, fortifying 
themselves as best they could by erecting mounds of loose rock, and 
loading and firing from behind this crude shelter with such daring and 
bravery that their enemies were kept at bay. They were sorely in 
need of water. Of meat, they had plenty, as they lived upon the 
flesh of their dead horses. At night, some of them usually crept through 
the line of sentinels that guarded them and made their way to the river, 
filling canteens of tanned hide or skins and working their way back 
to their beseiged friends. 

The fight was kept up for three days and nights, the Cheyennes 
and allies making frequent charges during the day, but always being 
compelled to fall back with severe loss, until they had almost annihi- 
lated the little band of Pawnees. On the fourth night they were re- 
duced to three or four men. Knowing their desperate situation, and 
realizing that there was no chance for any of them to escape, they 
determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible. Every man strip- 
ped stark naked, and, watching his opportunity, when the guards 
were less vigilant than usual, crept stealthily toward the foes. Hav- 
ing approached as near as they could without detection, the Pawnees 
burst upon the enemy with all the fury of desperate men going to their 
death, and, with blood-curdling yells, fought as men never fought before. 
One of them was armed with a long spear and knife only, (These 
spears were used in killing buffaloes.) Many a man went down before 
the weapon, but, finally, the Pawnee drove it so deeply into one of 
his victims that he could not withdraw it. Then he fell back on his 
butcher knife and made terrible havoc with it, until, overpowered by 
numbers, he died a warrior's glorious death, reeking with the blood of 
his enemies. He certainly had sufficient revenge. 

The time we camped at the foot of the rock, we did not go into 
camp until after night fall. Another man and I were placed on first 
guard around the grazing cattle. After being out some time, we were 
startled by something dropping, zip! zip! into the grass around us and 
near us. We thought it was Indians shooting at us with arrows. 



54 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



There wer^ all sorts of rumors of attacks from Indians, and this certainly 
was a great Indian camping-ground and country, so we were greatly 
alarmed and continually on the lookout, expecting at any time to be 
attacked. We finally concluded to go to camp and notify the wagon 
boss. He came back with us and for a long time believed that Indians 
were shooting at us, but the question was, where were they concealed? 
The mystery was finally solved: The pecidiar sound was made by 
little birds called skylarks, flying up and alighting, striking the earth 
with such force that the noise seemed like that produced by the fall 
of an arrow or of a stone. The skylarks and meadow-larks sang at 
all hours of the night on the Plains. 

The great Pawnee Rock has found its way into the history of the 
West. Around its rugged base was many a desperate battle fought and 
won; and many a mystic rite, performed within its shadow, has stamped 
upon the grand old mass the weird and tragic nature of the children of 
the Plains. 

It was in the immediate vicinity of the Rock that I inadvertently 
started one of the most disastrous stampedes in the history of the Plains. 

In the fall of 1862, I was going back East with one of the large 
ox trains of Majors Russel and Waddel. I think we had thirty or forty 
wagons with six yoke of oxen to the wagon. Our wagons were strung 
five or six together, and one team of six yoke of oxen attached to each 
string. 

It was the latter part of November, and we were travelling along 
the Arkansas bottom about ten miles west of where the Great Bend is 
located. It was a very hot afternoon, more Hke summer than winter — 
one of those warm spells that we frequently had in the late fall on the 
plains. 

I was driving the loose cattle. The Mexicans always drove their 
loose cattle in front of the trains, while the Americans invariably drove 
theirs behind. I wore a heavy linsey woolsey coat manufactured 
from the loom in Missouri. The body was lined with yellow stuff and 
the sleeves with red. Because of the heat, I pulled ofT my coat, and 
in the process, turned it inside out. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock ^^ 



We had an old ox named Dan— a big old fellow with rather large 
horns, and so gentle that we used him as a horse in crossing streams. 
Dan was always lagging behind, and this day more than usual on account 
of the heat. The idea of making him carry the coat struck me. I 
caught him and, by dint of a Uttle stretching, placed the sleeves over 
his horns and let the coat flop down in front. I scarcely reaUzed what 
I had done until I took a front view of him. He presented a ludicrous 
appearance with his great horns covered with red, and the yellow coat 
flapping down over his face. ITnconscious of the appearance he pre- 
sented, he trudged along. I prodded him with repeated punches of 
my long driving pole; for in dressing him up, he had gotten behind. 
I could not but laugh at the ridiculous sight; but my laughter was soon 
turned to regret. No sooner did old Dan make his appearance among 
the other cattle than a young steer bawled out in the steer language, 
as plain as good Enghsh, "Great Scott!" "What monstrosity is this 
coming among us to destroy us?" and with one long, loud, beseeching 
bawl, put all possible distance between himself and the terror behind 
him. All his brothers followed his example — each one seeing how 
much louder he could bawl than his neighbor, and each one trying to 
out-run the rest. I thought to myself, "Great Guns! What have I 
done now?" I quickly and quietly stepped up to old Dan, fearing that 
he too might get away, and with the evidence of my guilt. I took from 
his horns and head what had caused one of the greatest stampedes ever 
seen on the plains, and placed it on my back where it belonged. 

In the meantime, the loose cattle had caught up with the wagons 
and those attached to the vehicles took fright. In spite of all the 
drivers could do, they lost control of their teams, and away they went, 
making a thundering noise. One could see nothing but a big cloud of 
dust, and the ground seemed to tremble. Nothing was left but Dan 
and me after the dust had subsided, and I poked him along with my 
driving pole as fast as possible, for I was anxious to find out what 
damage was done. We travelled miles and miles, and it seemed hours 
and hours before I espied the wagon boss riding toward us like mad. 
When he came up and demanded the cause of the stampede, 1 replied 



S6 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



that I could not tell unless a wolf had run in front of the cattle and 
frightened all except Dan whom I held, thinking I would save all I could 
out of the wreck. There stood old Dan — a mute witness to my lies. 
Indeed, I thought, at times, he gave me a sly wink, as much as to say 
"You lie out of it well, but I am ashamed of you." I thought that 
God was merciful in not giving this dumb animal speech, for if He had, 
they certainly would have hung me. As it was, the wagon boss 
remarked, "I know it was the cussed wolves, because I saw several 
this afternoon while riding in front of the train." *'Well" he contin- 
ued, ''that wolf didn't do a thing but wreck six or eight wagons in 
Walnut Creek, and from there on for the next five miles, ten or twelve 
more; and the most of them will never see the States again, they are so 
completely broken up. Besides, one man has a broken leg and another 
a broken arm, and a lot of the men are bruised up. Three steers have 
their legs broken, and the front cattle were fifteen miles from where we 
are now when I overtook them." 

I have seen many stampedes since, but never anything equal to 
that. I have seen a great wagon train heavily loaded struggling along 
with drivers pounding and swearing to get the cattle out of a snail's 
pace, and one would think the train too heavily loaded; it seemed such 
a strain on the cattle to draw it. If a run-away horse or something 
unusual came up suddenly behind them the frightened cattle in the 
yoke would set up a bawl, pick up those heavily loaded wagons and set 
off with them at a pace that was astounding, running for miles and 
frequently overturning the wagons. The boss in front, where he was 
always supposed to be, would give the order to rough lock both wheels, 
which would probably be done to a few of the first wagons. Even those 
doubly locked waggons would be hauled along for a mile of two before 
the cattle's strength was exhausted; and seemingly the whole earth 
would shake in their vicinity. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock 67 

IN RETROSPECT 
By J. R. Mead. 

/jm^IlE most notable landmark on the Santa Fe trail in Kansas was 
\^ that bold, projecting, red sandstone cliff — the southern out- 
crop of the Dakota sandstone, known to every plainsman as 
"Pawnee Rock." It was the only massive rock on the Trail 
east of the mountains. 

For untold centuries, this commanding Rock looked down upon 
river and plain; upon vast herds of bison coming and going; upon armed 
bands of Red Men passing to and fro to gain glory in battle or food in 
the chase. From its summit, the Indian sentinel watched the coming 
and camping places of his prey; for the Rock afforded secure shelter, 
and water from a little spring at its eastern base. 

Perhaps from this Rock, the hunting party from "Qui vera" saw 
the cavalcade of Spanish adventurers led by Coronada who first followed 
up the north-west bend of the Arkansas, then crossed to the great 
southern bend of the Smoky Hill to "Quivera;" for this was the natural 
prehistoric route from the western plains of the Arkansas to the tribes, 
inhabiting the Kansas River country. In succeeding years, other 
expeditions in quest of conquest and traffic, or zealous to teach the 
doctrines of the Holy Faith, passed by the Rock — some of them never 
to return. 

Later, courageous Frenchmen, coming up the Missouri River 
adventured the plains for the purpose of trading and trapping. Some 
carved their names on the cliff. 

In 1804 came Zebulon Pike following in the wake of eight hundred 
Spaniards who passed by the Rock on their return from the Pawnee 
village. 

About this time commenced the Pack Train traffic between the 
Missouri River and Santa Fe, led by hunters and trappers who knew 
the route. These fearless adventurous men had traversed the plain 
and mountains long before the country was explored by the Govern- 
ment or mapped by geographers. To them, adventure and danger were 



58 Echoes of Pawnee Rock 



the spice of life. Their trail followed the narrow valley between 
Pawnee Rock and the river; and the Rock was one of their camping 
places. 

Kit Carson who frequently camped there, told the writer the 
following adventure: "When I was a young man going out to Santa 
Fe with a pack train, I camped one dark night at Pawnee Rock. After 
supper, we picketed our animals, spread our blankets on the grass, and 
were asleep when a band of Indians rode over our camp yelling to stam- 
pede our animals. I jumped up and fired my rifle in the direction 
they had gone, and shot one of my best mules through the heart." 

Succeeding the pack trains, came caravans of wagons increasing 
from year to year until the great Trail resembled the street of a city — 
but about the Rock lurked the Indians to plunder, stampede or kill 
as opportunity offered. 

In> 1872 came the railroad, displacing the cowboy, the Indian and 
the buffalo. 

Last of all the settler came, and occupied the land. With his 
coming, the freedom and the chivalry of the plains departed. With 
vandai hands, he quarried away much of the noted Rock with its wealth 
of ancient inscriptions, but he staid, and from the wilderness has arisen 
an empire. 

6n whatsoever land the Anglo Saxon plants his foot, of that land 
he is master, or there he finds his grave. 



Echoes of Pawnee Rock ^^ 



A REVERIE 

By Margar"et Perkins 

Departed is the glory of the plain. 
The plaintive spirit of the soUtude 

By wanton breezes wooed, 
Now mutely broods above the pensive train 
Who softly tread around this woeful mound, 

For it is holy ground. 

Its summit — heir to desecration's blight — 
Was tower and fortress in the Red Man's day 

From whence he spied his prey; 
And marked with eyes that gloated on the sight 
White-crafted pilgrims on a grassy sea 

Drift unto destiny. 

Where merry children flit, and lovers stroll, 
Pale wind-flowers reddened in the cruel shower; 

Within a sullied bower 
The prairie lily swayed its priestly bowl 
O'er those for whom we plant the myrtle vine 

And amaranthus twine. 



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